


you are anchoring

by badbadnotgood



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Post 3x07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24293338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badbadnotgood/pseuds/badbadnotgood
Summary: “What she does is none of my concern,” Villanelle says thickly. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t me.”“I know,” Eve says, without hesitance.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 18
Kudos: 320





	you are anchoring

By the time Villanelle’s taxi arrives outside Eve’s house, it’s near eight o’clock, night bleeding into the sky, and Villanelle has four missed calls and three text messages from Konstantin which sit on her lockscreen ignored. She pays her fare and slips out, the sound of the car door shutting too loud for such a quiet street.

She’s walks to Eve’s front door, stomach spiked with nerves and twisting uncomfortably from the throbbing pain in her arm. Oh yeah, that asshole politician managed to stab her. She hasn’t stopped thinking about the sloppiness of the kill. Eve calls her kills flamboyant, attention seeking. She fucked this one up mostly because she didn’t care. They’d promised her the job of giving orders and hadn’t delivered. She’s a fool to have thought they would.

She knocks twice.

The seconds stab at the wound on her arm, make her throat thick and dry. She waits for Eve, waits for the smell of Eve’s home to hit her in the face, the warm light of her hallway.

The door swings open and Eve’s there. She’s wearing grey sweatpants and a soft tank top. Her hair is down, her curls pushed back away from her face.

“You look beautiful,” Villanelle says, without thinking.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Eve hisses.

She’s too tired to argue or sass her. Man, she really is under the weather.

“Please,” she says. “Eve, please.”

Eve pulls the door open wider and steps aside, an offer. Villanelle’s heart swells.

*

“I’ll ask once,” Eve says. “My husband. Was it you?”

Villanelle scoffs and watches Eve’s face twist with anger. She wants to apologise, just for that. She wants to apologise for so much.

“Eve,” she says, “I care about you too much to hurt him. It wasn’t me.”

She watches Eve frown, blink, chew at her bottom lip. She’s thinking with that big brain of hers, Villanelle knows. She knows she won’t have to tell Eve anything because Eve’s smart enough to get there on her own.

“You were with her,” Eve says. “You work for her.”

“Who is ‘her’?”

Eve won’t meet her eyes.

“Dasha.”

Villanelle’s mouth goes dry, the lump in her throat almost suffocating. “How do you know that name?”

“I went to see her,” Eve says. “I wanted information. To know who she was. I wanted to know who tried to kill my husband. I wanted…to know who taught you.”

Villanelle feels sick, then, because she knows she loves Eve. Eve, travelling across the fucking world again just for information on her. She knows exactly what Dasha must have said to her, that Villanelle is nothing but a cold-blooded killer, not at all pretty like that face would lead you to believe. That there’s no heart in that chest of hers. And Eve, her beautiful Eve, she probably told her no. No, that’s not right. I know her. She’s not like that.

“What she does is none of my concern,” Villanelle says thickly. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t me.”

“I know,” Eve says, without hesitance.

She wants to kiss Eve. She always wants to kiss Eve, with teeth and tongue and her hands in her hair. But right now, she wants to kiss her soft, warm, like she deserves. Kiss her like she’s something precious, because she is. To Villanelle.

The tears sting her eyes, threaten to spill down her cheeks. She’ll let them if they do, because they’re for Eve.

“I’m getting out,” Villanelle says.

Eve stands awkwardly before her, arms wrapped around her body, trying to make herself appear smaller. Villanelle wishes she wouldn’t close herself off like that.

“What do you mean?” Eve says.

“I’m getting out of this shit. I’m done with it. I’m leaving with Konstantin.”

“And where are you going?” Eve demands.

“I don’t know. I will just go with him. I trust him.”

Eve straightens. She’s looking at Villanelle with worried eyes, dark like molasses and so, so beautiful. Villanelle looks right back, waits for Eve to speak, to question her. She wants Eve to ask her where she’ll go and how long for. She wants Eve to ask her to stay here.

“You’re hurt,” Eve says instead.

Villanelle looks down at her injured arm and sees the blood seeping through the sleeve of her jacket. She’d mostly forgotten about the searing pain when Eve had opened the door and Villanelle saw her, flesh and bone and _alive_.

“I’m fine,” Villanelle lies. “It’s just a scratch.”

She knows by now that Eve won’t take that for an answer and doesn’t bother arguing. She slips off the jacket carefully as Eve searches frantically for something. She hopes it’s not rubbing alcohol, she’s had enough of that shit nearly causing her to black out from the pain. The wound throbs, and she hates Eve for reminding her it exists. For trying to help.

“Sit down,” Eve says. “At the table.”

Villanelle does as she’s told, doesn’t even think about it. She pulls out a chair and sits, waits for Eve’s next move. She watches Eve open drawers and cupboard doors and slam them shut, then she’s grabbing a green box and rushing to Villanelle’s side.

She hates stitches. Hates bandages, the smell of those antiseptic wipes. She’s so familiar with them at this point that it’s not even fun anymore. She doesn’t want to keep getting fucking stab wounds, not even from Eve.

Eve is so delicate, though. She presses antiseptic into the wound gently, dabs at the dried blood and pus that surrounds the wound. It’s ugly and it hurts and it’s her own fucking fault for being so sloppy. She tries to focus on Eve’s touch, the softness of her skin and the way she handles Villanelle like she might break.

“I’m sorry,” Villanelle whispers. “I’m sorry for so much.”

Eve says nothing, if anything she pays extra attention to dressing Villanelle’s wound properly. She secures the bandage, not too tight and not too loose, just right.

“Are you hungry?” Eve asks. “Have you eaten?”

“I could eat,” Villanelle says.

Eve makes her soup, chunky and warm with fresh buttered bread. Villanelle practically inhales it, the hunger hitting her now that she knows Eve wants her here. She feels Eve’s eyes on her the whole time, looks up and meets them a few times as Eve sips at her tea.

It’s the best Villanelle’s felt in weeks.

“You’re not having any?” Villanelle asks, filling the silence. She just wants to hear Eve’s voice.

“I’ve eaten,” she says.

They don’t talk after that and Villanelle wipes the soup from the sides of the bowl with her bread, clearing the whole thing.

“Where,” Eve starts, voice shaking, “Do you know where you’ll be going? Like, do you have an idea?”

Villanelle shrugs. She really doesn’t know, could be anywhere. She’d probably follow Konstantin to the end of the fucking planet, she trusts him that much.

“Cuba,” she offers.

Eve scoffs. It’s a pretty sound. “Cuba?”

“What’s wrong with Cuba? Amazing healthcare system, which I clearly need.”

“No kidding,” Eve says.

She watches Eve’s hands wrap around her mug of tea like it’s a safety blanket. Like her bones are cold and she needs all the warmth that cup can give her.

“Eve,” Villanelle says.

Eve pushes her seat out, the sound of the metal legs scraping across the floor making both of them cringe. “I’ll grab you something to sleep in.”

*

They go to bed not long after, the exhaustion hitting Villanelle in a way that makes her bones ache. Eve puts the heating on and Villanelle dresses careful into Eve’s clothes. They’re clean and they smell like Eve, and Villanelle presses them to her cheeks, her nose, inhales the scent.

Villanelle brushes her teeth with a new toothbrush that Eve gives her, washes her face with Eve’s facial cleanser and slips into Eve’s bed, right next to her. Eve never mentioned the sleeping situation, never suggested that Villanelle sleep on the couch or in the spare room, so Villanelle takes it as an offering.

“Arm better?” Eve says into the darkness.

“Yeah,” Villanelle says. “Thank you.”

She relaxes beside Eve, the warmth of the sheets and the smell of Eve everywhere making her blink heavily. She wants to wrap herself around Eve, feel that warmth seeping into her, wants her face buried in Eve’s hair and she wants to fall asleep just like that. But she puts the control in Eve’s hands, waits for her words, her movements.

Eve’s hand slips into her own minutes later, soft and hesitant, and the touch brings tears to Villanelle’s eyes. She holds on, links their fingers and grips Eve’s hand like a promise.

"I love you," Villanelle says.

Eve shuffles and the bed dips, and then Eve's kissing her, mouth finding Villanelle's in the darkness and pressing firmly. Her lips are soft, warm, and Villanelle trembles when Eve's hand slides across her cheek, thumb brushing over the bone there. She moans when Eve's tongue dips into her mouth, wet and delicate, lets Eve take what she wants. 

She's missed her so much.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from your body changes everything by perfume genius, a beautiful and villaneve appropriate song. thank you for reading <3


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